Sunday,
April 18, 1999
Rev. James
A.Todhunter
"THE HIDDEN CHRIST"
PSALM 116:1-4 
LUKE 24:13-35
The text I would like to linger on this morning is the 31st
verse of Luke, Chapter 24: "Then their eyes were
opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from
their sight." If I had to give up the entire New
Testament but could keep one chapter, my choice would
easily be Luke 24. For me, it has it all and says it all.
Like all the resurrection stories, it addresses the
question "What does it mean to encounter the Risen
Christ?" Like all great writing it doesn’t so
illustrate principles, as point us toward a deeper
reality.
Why are you here today? Why did you come this morning? Whatever your stated reason, explicit or conscious, I am convinced that you and I are here for one important purpose, and one only: we are here to meet the Risen Christ. However each of us wishes to interpret that statement, isn’t that what it comes down to? Whether it is out of our belief, our unbelief, our hope or our hostility, we long for that living and powerful divine presence that will encounter us on our roads through life, and have such an impact that we may indeed turn right around on the journey and head our lives in the opposite direction.
Right now - whether you hear my words to as a convinced believer, wistful wonderer, or confirmed skeptic, I believe that what each of us has in common is that our hearts are burning within us. The Risen Christ is here, walking with us, but somehow unrecognizable. We each have heard the story. We know what Jesus said about dying and being raised. We know the reports of those who found the tomb empty, those who said angels spoke to them. We have heard these stories, whether we dismiss them as idle tales or accept them as somehow true. We’ve heard the Bible preached week in and week out. We’ve been told to love one another because God is love. We vigorously discuss the Bible and theology amongst ourselves, listening respectfully to one another, even patiently to those whose views we neither understand nor agree with. But still our hearts burn within us, as the Risen Christ remains unseen.
All the resurrection stories portray an elusive Christ. Sometimes he is visible, sometimes invisible. He enters and leaves rooms whose doors remain locked. Yet he is a physical presence, able to eat and drink, possessing a body, the wounds of which one can touch. Whatever he is, he seems not a ghost nor hallucination. We find all of this in Luke 24. Jesus is an unrecognizable but real presence beside the two on the Emmaus Road. In the breaking of the bread, he becomes recognizable. "Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight." What is Luke up to here?
First, I believe Luke is showing us that we don’t recognize the Risen Christ because somehow our eyes are closed, our perceptions are dulled. In a sense we know all we need to know. We have heard it all; some of us even at first hand. Nowhere is the distinction between seeing and perceiving more dramatic than here. You and I so often live in the gap between knowledge and understanding. And in that gap, our hearts burn within us. It is a reminder that we are spiritually alive. Psychiatrists tell us that most people today suffer from "chronic low grade depression" (as opposed to acute clinical depression). When you are depressed in this way, does more information help? Does sound advice from patient and well-intentioned friends cheer us up? The Jesus of the gospels sometimes has a short fuse, and is not reluctant to snap at his disciples, referring to them as a little dim. But sometimes impatience can be a great expression of love. Jesus in exasperation calls the two on the road "foolish" and "slow of heart." Perhaps he should have been more pastoral, but his message was "wake up!" Then he gave it one more try with a walking "teach in" on the scriptures from beginning to end. We can’t see, we cannot perceive or understand that which we have already ruled out as impossible. They knew that Jesus said he would be raised. They had heard that he had been raised. But since they couldn’t understand it, they couldn’t experience it. Social scientists tell us that our understanding of reality is a social perceptual consensus. Kierkegaard suggested that depression (which he called "sickness unto death") is a form of sin, the pain we suffer because we settle for a restricted reality. But even then our hearts somehow continue to burn within us. And that is the path to our salvation, the sign of hope.
Today we ask ourselves what does it mean to say that Christ is alive? What does it mean to meet the Risen Christ? Any "answer" we provide comes out of our pre-conceived notions. St. Paul says Christ was raised as a "spiritual body." When you think about that, it obviously makes no sense. In our dualistic, western way of thinking, if something is spiritual it is, by definition, not physical. If something is physical, it is, by definition, not spiritual. Was the Risen Christ physical or spiritual? Luke’s answer? Both and neither. The Risen Christ is something new. He is the "new creation."
"And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and the vanished from their sight." Isn’t this another way of expressing the same paradox that is at the heart of our faith? "She who loves her life must lose it, she who loses her life will find it." "Store up for yourselves riches in heaven." "Blessed are the poor in spirit." "Happy are the sad; sad are the happy." We fully encounter the Risen Christ when we recognize his absence. If we believe Christ has been raised, if we truly believe this in our hearts, then we will encounter the Risen Christ over and over in those very situations in which there is no visible sign of his presence. Luke is saying that Jesus is free to vanish from our sight at the very moment our eyes are opened and we recognize him as the Risen Christ. And we can only fully recognize him when we can live in recognition of his absence. Perhaps the only sign we ever really need is that burning and yearning within our hearts.
The work of Christ in our world will not get done unless you and I do it. When we say that you and I are the hands and feet and vocal chords of Christ in this world, it means it is up to us - not some Jesus who is yet to return or some guru who will now instruct us. Every time we speak out for justice; every time we pick up a hammer or paint brush to help someone in need; every time we serve a meal at Shepherd’s Table; every time we help a refugee find a place to live and a job; every time we write a check to Church World Service; every time we help a victim of Hurricane Mitch; every time we extend credit to a struggling family in Nicaragua; every time we teach a Sunday School class; every time we provide a ride for an older adult; every time we break bread together, we recognize both the absence and the presence of the Risen Christ.
The two on the road later tell their friends, "how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread." What opened their eyes was a simple, primal act of sharing and generosity. The sharing of the bread at that simple meal allowed them to see the Risen Christ while at the same time empowering them to live in his absence. They learned that they were not simply called to live in patient anticipation of his return; they were called to be Christ in his absence.
We are here to encounter the Risen Christ. Do not our hearts burn within us? Why not start there. Each of us. Several weeks ago, I performed the wedding of Phil Kiefert and his Bolivian fiancé, Luz-Jenny Soza. Her parents flew in from La Paz. Since they speak little English I asked my wife, Lois, to translate and we ended up having a bi-lingual ceremony here in the chancel. Yesterday Lois flew to Bolivia to spend a week doing training in family planning. Jenny’s parents met her at the airport to welcome her. That is a connection that somehow makes my heart burn within me. A number of us heard David Daniel’s debut at the Metropolitan Opera and heard him sing on the broadcast yesterday. Think of it: a human being whose physical body becomes the vehicle by which beauty enters the world, that person somehow brings blessing and is a blessing. I sat there and my heart burned within me. Yesterday a group of this church and First Baptist spent a good part of the day cleaning and sanding and scraping and hauling and mowing for a person they had never met, because Christmas can come in April, too. My heart burns within me when I think about it. We can bemoan the decline of the family in our society, but when I think of the family of Bob and Kay Perry - a living community of love, acceptance, appreciation, nurture and support - my hearts burns within me.
Where is it happening with you? Where is your heart burning within you, in wordless wonder and hope and gratitude? Where is the new creation bursting forth? Where is your soul telling you that the Risen Christ is walking at your side, even now? AMEN.
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